Treasure in the Sand

by Jill Monroe

  Was Legs a squatter? Maybe Mrs. Waiter had never returned after the hurricane. Would explain how dilapidated the place was. He pivoted to follow the stranger again. A small cleared pathway was on this side of the house, and there’d been some effort at stacking some of the more portable branches and tree trunks.

  Cooper continued to shadow the woman, not a hard task with the soft sway of her hips that made him think of sex. And then more sex.

  Hell, he was performing a good deed here. How could Mrs. Waiter refuse to sell the map to the helpful young man who saved her home from a woman clearly up to no good? Yes, ma’am, he was a regular Boy Scout.

  The woman paused and he almost stumbled, but managed not to alert her. She reached for a tie that held her hair up in a tight knot, and shook the long, dark tresses loose. Legs rolled her neck and stretched. Sexy. As. Hell.

  He began to stiffen. Whoa. Two hot women approached him in a bar and nothing. He spies a woman doing nothing more than stretching and walking and he’s ready to play. He’d developed an iron control of his body, even the most mischievous appendage. But then Cooper imagined those long thick strands tickling his cheeks as she straddled his hips. Or he’d wrap her hair around his fist as he thrust into her sweet body.

  Rick said no women.

  Screw Rick.

  The firm packed earth beneath his feet gradually turned sandy and soft. Coop caught the sound of waves and scent of the salted sea air. Was Legs heading for a sunset dip?

  She kicked off her flip-flops and reached for the edge of her tank top. Slowly, seductively, she peeled the material up her body. His blood flowed like liquid fire in his veins. The graceful striptease that made him hungry for soft skin and heated kisses.

  Keep going, Legs. Don’t stop now.

  She reached behind her back and unsnapped her bra, tossing it to the sand. Her shorts fell at her feet, and she stepped out of the garment to kick it away.

  Okay, he was a real creep. Sure, he’d been urging her along in his mind, but that was fantasy Legs. He hadn’t expected this real live flesh and blood woman to go topless.

  What would she do next? Shimmy out of that scrap of silk and give him a brief glimpse of heaven? He licked his dry lips. His heartbeat slowed, his breathing shallowed. Every beat of time stretched longer than the one before. The wind carried the lilting, sexy gasp of her laugh—free and untroubled. She stretched and reached her hands to the sky, like a goddess. But of the sun or the sea?

  “I’m calling this moment.”

  Had she just called it? The catch phrase he stumbled on, but had made him millions in merchandising? Hot damn, Legs was a fan. The sexy goddess before him stalked toward the edge of the water, and he reached for his shirt, ready to rip it off his body and sling it to the ground and follow her to the sea. No, she wasn’t a goddess, but a siren. Sexy and tempting.

  Time caught up with him, the beat of his heart pounded.

  Cooper leaned his shoulder against one of the lone, but ragged palm trees, and took a steadying breath. Or at least tried to inhale some calming air, because Legs’ fingers found the thin strap of her…he swallowed…her panties. Those weren’t bikini bottoms. Legs wasn’t just planning a topless swim. She was going skinny-dipping. Unobserved and alone.

  Tell her to stop. Make a sound and call attention to yourself. Yeah, you don’t want to, but you have to.

  “A nice guy would probably stop you right there,” he called.

  Hell, he wasn’t a nice guy. But he wasn’t a creep either.

  Legs gasped and turned, covering her full breasts with her hands. Damn. Her face was even more beautiful than her body.

  Shock followed by a hint of fear and then irritation crossed her face. Ah, hell. He hated that he’d scared her. When did you become the ass who assumed every woman recognized you? He lifted his hands and backed away. “I’m leaving,” he called.

  “Who the hell are you?” she asked.

  “You don’t know?” She’d used his phrase a moment ago. Then he made a show of looking down at the sand, so she wouldn’t think he was trying to catch a peek.

  “Should I know you? Come away from the tree so I can see your face,” she demanded, her voice laced with anger. “Wait, on second thought. Don’t. Turn around.”

  “I hate to tell you this, but I could turn around or I could help you gather your clothes. That last wave just took them.”

  She made a frustrated choking sound in the back of her throat.

  “Look, I will turn around, but I’ll toss you my shirt.”

  She nodded, the gentle ocean wind catching her dark hair. He followed the strands, lighter at the tips, as they lifted and floated in the air. Cooper rotated, and he pulled off his t-shirt. He threw it behind his head, and tried to focus on something other than on the nearly naked bombshell dressing behind him. Focus on the waves. The setting sun. The way the seagull called for a mate down the beach.

  He heard the rustle of clothing. Imagined the cotton sliding down her skin, his fingers— Stop. You’re imagining things you shouldn’t, about a woman who’d broken into a ramshackle cottage while the owner was away. Not a smart move, Overton. Was she searching for a rock to bonk him over the head while his back was turned? A dangerous Siren for sure.

  “Okay. I’m covered.”

  No bonking. Good. He turned to find her stuffing her bra into the pocket of her shorts. Legs really was beautiful, all curves and sensuality. He couldn’t yet see the color of her eyes, but her lips were full, although right now pulled in one very concerned line.

  He stepped out of the shadow of the tree. Her eyes widened and she gasped as she recognized him. “Oh my gosh, you’re Cooper Overton.”

  Now why did he like that she knew him? Women recognized him all the time and he didn’t care.

  “And you’re…about to be very grateful I’m not turning you over to the authorities.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “For what?”

  “Trespassing for one.”

  “I’m not the one trespassing. You are Mr. Uninvited.” She shouldered past him, pausing only long enough to slide her feet into her flip-flops and then continued up the path toward the cottage.

  Legs didn’t appear worried that she’d been caught. Good for her. He’d bluffed his way through several not-so-legal situations in the past. But time wasn’t on his side to get the map from Mrs. Waiter and if letting the older lady know he’d chased a squatter off the property would give him an advantage in the negotiations of the price of the map, he’d grab it. With both hands.

  He picked up the pace behind her. But oh, wow, maybe he should rename her Ass. Those perfect globes were like a gift-wrapped present on his birthday.

  And she was almost to the cottage.

  “I think Mrs. Waiter will be eager to hear what I have to say about you,” he called.

  Legs turned to him now, her beautiful face illuminated by the security light above the screen door. Hazel. Her eyes were hazel, framed by thick lashes and filled with determination. Yeah, he appreciated a woman committed to the bluff.

  She crossed her arms in front her chest, her nipples tight and poking against the thin material of his t-shirt. May she lose her bras forever.

  “You’re right. Mrs. Waiter is always eager to hear about me. And talk about me. As her only grandchild, she’s excessively proud. Word of advice, don’t get her started on my third grade play.”

  His hands fisted in frustration. Why had his research not ferreted out a granddaughter? Granddaughters meant legacy. Not wanting to sell. Trouble.

  Granddaughter Waiter tugged open the screen door and he tried to spot the grandmother sitting inside. Nothing. “I’d love to hear about that play,” he said, glossing over his earlier assumption. “I have time right now.”

  “Or never. I have power of attorney. Anything you have to say to her, you’ll say to me.”

  He flashed her the smile the people in marketing said sold his show. “Great. Let me inside and we’ll talk.”

  She shook h
er head. “No. I can’t think of anything you’d offer I’d like to hear.”

  His gaze strayed to her lips, then to her eyes. Her eyes widened again. No, they flared.

  So. Granddaughter Legs Waiter was attracted to him. At least a little. And she was a fan of the show, even liked his catch phrase.

  Push the advantage. Let the business negotiation begin. He smiled at her. “Give me a chance. I might surprise you.”

  “I doubt it,” she said, closing the screen door behind her. Then slamming the door.

  “I’m willing to pay for the map to Le Cœur Surveillé,” he called. “A lot.”

  * * *

  Molly slumped against the door, then slid down until she plopped on the floor.

  She’s only had one BOM today, right?

  Because that was Cooper Overton on the other side of this door, right? And he’d stared at her lips. And almost caught her naked. Strike that. He would have caught her naked but he’d stopped her. So that was one point in his favor.

  And he’d given her his shirt. She buried her nose in the sleeve and breathed in deep. Sun and sea. His yummy scent. She’d always hoped he smelled like this. Another point in his favor.

  Although he’d thought she was an intruder trying to pull one over on an old lady. So take away that point.

  He’d wanted Le Cœur Surveillé. Minus five. Now you’re in the negatives, buddy.

  So he wanted the jewel, no surprise there. He was a modern day buccaneer with his own show on The Adventure Channel. The legend of her family’s quest was bound to hit his radar at some point.

  Was The World Overton profiling her family’s legacy? That would mean scores of people would soon arrive on their dilapidated doorstep. Cameras and production people would trample the ground where the orange grove had once prospered.

  Gram would hate that.

  Of course Brecon wasn’t really photogenic at the moment. Cooper Overton might be a thrill seeker, and Le Cœur Surveillé was one mighty challenge, but he worked a cable show, too, and the old orange grove wouldn’t make for pretty TV. Maybe she could convince the sexy adventurer now wasn’t the time.

  Oh, yeah. He’d seen her nearly naked. She groaned and dropped her forehead to her knees.

  “You okay in there?” he called.

  She rubbed her temples. “Yeah, I’m good.” I just have this unbelievable crush on you. The kind a grown woman has no business harboring.

  “I have a business proposition for you.”

  Of course he did. Over the years, she watched her grandparents deal with half a dozen people who intended to have a piece of the Waiter family action. Well, it wasn’t for sale. Not now, not ever. Only one family had been entrusted with the map, and only one family would ever eventually recover the priceless jewel and gold coins if they existed.

  Molly sucked in a breath. She was now the guardian. No longer could she live by the adage of ignore and it will eventually go away.

  She’d never cared about having that role. No way. Chasing after that stupid rock stole her parents away from her at the age of seven. Their death in the diving accident took years off the life of her grandparents.

  The weight of the responsibility dragged her shoulders down. Naturally she’d always realized that the safekeeping of the map and its secrets would one day be hers, but that always seemed way down in the future. Not today. Not this moment. Not with the twenty-first century’s version of a pirate standing on her doorstep.

  Shoving her hands against the floor, Molly stood and brushed the sand from her legs. She might not want the job, but a Waiter never shirked from her duty. If she found the treasure, it would be without the help of a sexy TV show host. Waiters were the guardians. Time for him to go.

  But first—change shirts.

  After donning on a new tank top, Molly unlocked the deadbolt and her breath stilled in her chest as she caught sight of him after opening the door. The porch light poured down on his broad shoulders and thick biceps. No picture, no clip on TV had prepared her for the crushing sexiness of Cooper Overton up close and all in her personal space. Her nipples tightened. Why had she not dragged her bra out of her pocket and snapped it in place before facing him?

  His dark eyes were little more than a dare to any woman with a beating heart. Come with me. You know you’re aching for adventure. His brown hair was shaggy on top, definitely needing a trim, but highlighted by the sun. Molly ached to sink her fingers in the strands and mess it up even more. He’d be even more adventuresome between the sheets, wouldn’t he?

  His brow lifted. “Ms. Waiter.”

  “Molly,” she breathed, and shoved his shirt into his hands. “Thanks.”

  “Molly,” he repeated. Her name sounded sensual coming from his lips, and she longed to hear him say it again and again.

  Back in the day she’d have carefully clipped his picture out of a magazine and taped it inside her locker. But Deanna had pegged it; now she just pinned his image on her Pinterest board. Once. Okay, ten times.

  Right now his dark eyes gauged her reaction to him. What did he spot? Need? Desire?

  How many dozens of women had given him the same reaction? Cooper Overton was no stranger to the tabloids. He must think getting his way with her would be so easy.

  Not a chance buddy. You’ve awoken the beast.

  “Aren’t you even curious about how much?”

  She sighed. “You gave me the shirt off your back, so I’ll do you a favor and not waste your time. I’m not selling the map. Ever.”

  His eyes crinkled at the corners before his lips curved in a slow, sensual smile. Her heartbeat ramped up. Again. Grrrr.

  “How about we discuss it over dinner?” His voice was like slow melting caramel over a mound of ice cream, and she desired a lick.

  A date? Really? Did this guy think he could manipulate her over a little food? Probably. Beast. Awoken. Remember. “No dinner. No discussion.”

  “What if I double the going price for the map?”

  “Sorry.” Not sorry. “Never still means never.”

  His gaze strayed to her lips for a moment. “Everyone has a price. How much more is yours?”

  All the ice cream just melted.

  “Not playing it that way. I’m not the one looking to sell, you convince me.” Curiosity was a dangerous thing. “Actually, don’t.”

  “Five thousand dollars.”

  She reached for the door handle. “Thanks and good night.”

  “Ten thousand.”

  She met his gaze. “I’m really working not to roll my eyes at you. I’m telling you this, because I want you to appreciate the struggle.”

  The humor faded from his eyes. “One hundred thousand.”

  She did roll her eyes. “Please. The Le Cœur Surveillé is priceless. Not to mention the gold coins buried with it.”

  He swept his hand around the cottage. “Right now you have nothing,” he reminded her.

  “In the past, we’ve been offered over a million dollars.”

  “Agreed. One million.”

  Wow, that was one easy agreement. Damn, she should have said five. Not that she’d ever sell, but it was that curiosity thing again. How high would he have gone? “It’s not for sale.”

  His beautiful lips twisted. “Look around you, Ms. Waiter. A million dollars could fix this place up. Or give you a new start somewhere else.”

  Temptation began to rear it’s oh, so beautiful head. She swallowed, her resolve hardened. “And yet so easy to say no.”

  The corner of his lip lifted. “One day you won’t say no to me. Soon.”

  Her mouth flooded with moisture. Her nipples decided to join the party again, poking at the soft cotton of her tank. “One day…or never.” That was supposed to sound tough. Instead her voice had come out breathless.

  He grinned slowly. “Challenge accepted.”

  * * *

  Le Cœur Surveillé was just what Coop needed. So was the woman who’d come along with the hunk of gold and rocks. Excitement and
heat twisted in his gut. He hadn’t felt this kind of charge in years.

  In weeks, he’d have the jewel in his hand, that goddess of a woman warming his bed and his career back on track. “I’m calling it.”

  Ha! He hadn’t called something since the cameras had caught him shouting those words and execs had plastered the phrase on the airwaves and across t-shirts.

  His Aston Martin made easy work on the turns and curves of this island road. Now he must make quick work of Molly’s resistance to sharing the map with him. Money wasn’t the right play with her. No, she craved something more. A story to tell? A memory? Molly necessitated gentle persuasion. But then persuading a person was easy, especially when it was already something she wanted to do. And that woman craved to taste adventure and a thorough tussle between the sheets. He recognized the signs. It’s what drove him, too.

  Seduction. That was the key. His body hardened at the thought.

  Chapter Three

  With the sun shining overhead, Molly usually never minded playground duty at school, watching the kids play rather than eating with the other teachers in the staff lounge. It fell only once a week and really, the boys and girls ran and jumped with such carefree abandon that they took her thoughts away from hurricane damage, Gram’s too slow recovery and missed opportunities. But this afternoon’s duty prevented her from talking with Deanna. And man, oh man, she needed to share with her best friend what had happened with One Hot TV Guy last night.

  After spending hours deleting her Pinterest Board with the slowest Internet on earth, it had been too late to call. Her sheets had been left in a tangle from all her tossing and turning, and she’d overslept this morning and missed her chance before classes to catch Deanna in the hallway.

  Activity in the corner of her eye caught her attention. Molly reached for her whistle. “Rocks stay on the ground, Eric.”

  The little boy dropped the rock he’d been about to hurl. “I wasn’t going to throw it.” Then he took off at a run.

  Yeah, sure you weren’t.

  A few moments later, the bell rang and the children began to race back toward the school and take their places on the lines painted on the asphalt. Molly spotted Deanna leaving her classroom so she could collect her children, and she waved to catch her friend’s attention.